A busy bee, a flower pot, she comes alive when days are hot. Her smile warms the waking morn, her cheer repeats from dusk to dawn. A constant tune she hums with glee, of blooming buds and boys she’ll see. Sayuri loves the season’s cheer, when winter fades and spring draws near. The grass grows green, the beetles hum, the flowers rise—the spring has come! She waits until the sun hangs low, a molten peach on twilight’s bow. Its golden arms stretch wide and long, wrapping the hills in a glowing song. Then comes the pink—a blooming flush, that stains the clouds in blushing hush. The fruit trees catch the fading light, their blossoms blazing into night. Each petal kissed in crimson flame, a thousand lanterns without name. And in this glow, she finds her peace, a breath of spring that does not cease.

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